Am I 'Absolute'?

106: The bus journey- short story

You can meet all sorts of people on the bus. Some old ladies might be joking and laughing in the top front seats like they're teenagers. Then you might see a group of teenage girls in the bottom back seats of the bus, complaining and whining when the bus will start like they're all about to die of old age by the time the engine starts. I once saw a woman who was so tall her head hit the ceiling with an awful smack, and as she was leaving, our ears would hear another awful smack sound. She was well mannered enough to not curse but was probably rethinking her strategies on how to remember to keep her head tucked. Maybe next time she will try a neon yellow sticky note on her bus pass.

Yes. Bus journeys are accompanied with all the weirdos and the normies in the same compact space.
Sometimes it is a dangerous gamble to take the bus; you never know when you will fall asleep and have to take another two buses just to return to the previous position to get the same bus you had fallen asleep on. The lesson here is to this is to avoid taking night buses when you are tired on a cold night and the windows look misty on the inside (therefore it is warm enough to subconsciously rock you to sleep).

Also, avoid the seats in front of toddlers. Their legs are like engines that never stop kicking at the most annoying small of your back. Especially after they have been fuelled with sweets.

But what happened the one time I didn't manage to avoid any of the above things,

probably changed my life forever.

It was dark and late, the top window on the double decker was misted beyond seeing any humans inside, but instead weird black ghosts shivered in the distorted light because of the rain. I was so tired after a long day of work that I didn't think twice about hopping in rather than paying for a taxi. You know what happened next: a tall woman with platinum blonde hair, an amazing amount of olive freckles and wearing earphones, hit her head on the ceiling dropped a piece of paper and went to sit in one of the seats.
Meanwhile, I immediately drifted to sleep with the lullaby of the rain.
When I awoke, the bus had stopped at its station -many stops too far from my home - everyone was gone and the driver was shouting at me to get out (probably exhausted herself).
As I was leaving, I noticed the piece of paper that the woman had dropped earlier and saw it was a medical document of some sort. I picked it up quickly and pocketed it.

Don't get me wrong, I would usually give it to the driver in case the woman returned, but the driver was a prick. I don't think she would give it to the woman even if she did come back and beg on her hands and knees.

I didn't have time to wait around for the woman and had to take another two short buses back to my work place (all the taxis were busy). During the next bus ride I exchanged the paper from my pocket into my backpack in hopes that the thin black material would protect it better from the rain.

Soaking wet in my business suit and thoroughly stressed, I just caught the bus heading back to my home.
Thank goodness the next day was my day off.
As I got on the fourth bus that evening, I heard the chatty croaky voices of old ladies squealing upstairs like madwomen and the dreadfully inevitable drunk cries of young woman in the backseat. Usually, I would go straight upstairs but tonight I would rather chance it with the quieter crying than the headache squealing. As I skimmed the rows to the middle of the bus something called for my peripheral vision's immediate attention. It was the woman with platinum blonde hair, she must have fallen asleep in the previous bus too.

She was looking out the window at the streams of water running down the glass. She looked quite delicate and tranquil.
The bus started moving and I sat beside her.
"Excuse me?" She didn't reply. Maybe her earphones were louder than I thought? I tapped her shoulder and she turned to me, surprised. "You dropped your paper on the bus." I rummaged through my backpack and withdrew the document - thankfully dry - and passed it to her. She nodded in thanks, took it and smiled with relief.

Suddenly wanting to be acquainted, I tried to start a conversation. "You are very quiet."
That was a terrible way to start a conversation.
She nodded again.
Conversation over.
Great.
Well done me.

"Do you work around here?" I asked instead. She nodded again. I was worried about her neck with all that nodding.
I really needed to find a better topic. As if on cue, the bus stopped outside a theatre. "Do you like going to the cinema?" Was my creative question that once I said it sounded very stalker-like. She didn't reply to that. Maybe I should've stopped talking.

A few stops later, a man who looked as ragged and tired as I felt boarded the bus with a toddler who was jumping up and down. She had definitely eaten too many treats during the film.
Unfortunately, of all the empty seats they could have taken, they sat right behind us. The toddler gave my weary back a repeated beating that I'm sure it didn't deserve. The father was too busy trying not to fall asleep to notice. But I was determined not to move, my pride would probably be the death of my spine someday.

The woman must have noticed my discomfort as she did a series of sharp and quick hand movements.
Sign language? Was she deaf maybe? Seeing my confused expression, she pulled out the document I had just handed her and unfolded the paper to show me. Curiously scanning the page, it was a prescription for hearing aides.
She was deaf. I didn't know how to respond.
"How do you know what I was saying?" She tapped her lips. "Lip reading?" She nodded. Rising slowly on the rocking floor she shooed me out of the seat, flicking her hands. I was too surprised to feel rejected, but before any form of rejection could settle on me, she pulled me by the sleeve to another pair of empty seats away from the toddler.
We both sat down again and the silence was dreadful and awkward. The outside of my window seemed suddenly very interesting.

I heard the crinkle of paper when she tapped my arm and pointed to a certain part of the form.
Her name.

Lily-Beth Winters.
What a beautiful name.

"My name is-" the bus was stopping and she was rushing to leave. Giving a quick wave, she left into the night. I wanted to watch her through the window, but even the streetlights couldn't see her in the rain.
Lily-Beth Winters... Planning to find her on Facebook when I got home, I noticed a torn piece of paper on her vacant seat. There was a mobile number written on it and the initials L-B Winters.
That was my first meeting with Lily-Beth and I knew it wasn't going to be the last.

It was all on an ordinary bus journey, but it started an adventure.

Oh no, I think I've been influenced by all the old texts we need to read for English. It sounds so badly like The Great Gatsby mixed with Jekyll and Hyde 😭 Nwoooooo